The Fault Unknown is as a Thought Unacted
by MacMhuirich
Summary: What exactly did happen in Mexico? And what was wrong with Tim? Was the yogurt really to be blamed? Was it all Abby's fault? And what's Gibbs going to do about it? WEE written for Smartkid37. Episode Tag to Borderland S07E22 .
1. Prologue

**WEE (White Elephant Exchange on NFA) written for Smartkid37**

**This story's finished and I'll try to post one chapter/day.  
**

* * *

_**Prologue**_

**_June 22, 2010_**

**_Amphibious assault ship USS French Ensor Chadwick_**  
**_80 miles off the Virginia coast_**

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs straightened up and glanced around as if looking for someone. He'd been stooping over a corpse soaking the bunk it was lying on.

Tony looked up from his sketchbook. "McBarfbag? Left for the heads. What's taking him so long?"

Ziva lowered her camera with a frown. "He really is not feeling well. Why did you insist he come with us? He did say he would rather stay behind."

Gibbs flicked his head. "DiNozzo. Go get him back in here."

Ziva looked strangely at the Team Leader but then just sighed and walked to the head of the bunk to take a picture of the deceased from a better angle.

She didn't agree with Gibbs, but there was no way she could argue with the boss. It didn't stop her from worrying for her friend, though.

Tony looked as if he was about to say something, but decided against it and ran off to comply with Gibbs' order.

- -.-. -. . .

Meanwhile, Tony had found the heads and pushed open the door, his ears picking up the unmistakable sound of harsh retching.

"C'mon, McBarfbag. Time's up. Got work to do."

All he got for an answer was more vomiting followed by a low, guttural groan.

Finally, Tim flushed and emerged, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. His hands were shaking badly.

"Done?" Tony asked, concerned at how pale his friend's face was and the sheen of perspiration that covered it didn't look healthy at all.

Tim could only nod, lips tightly pressed together as if afraid of another episode of regurgitation that would see him holed up in the head.

At that moment, Tony's cell chose to play its ridiculous ring tone and he answered it as they both started walking back to where they'd left their teammates processing the scene.

"DiNozzo…hey Boss...Okay, yeah we can do that…uh huh…right." he answered, grabbing Tim by the arm and stopping his ailing friend dead in his tracks as he snapped his cell phone shut.

"It's Davies and Beresford. You take Davies; his quarters are down this way. Think you can manage it?"

Tim swallowed and nodded weakly, saying with as much conviction he could muster: "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Okay, I'll go after Beresford. Take care Probie; they may be armed." Tony stared intently into Tim's feverish and sunken eyes. Suddenly, he saw what he'd ignored the whole time. The man was genuinely sick. However, there was no time to fuss about his friend, right now. Furthermore, the fact that they had to split up and that he wouldn't be able to have the kid's six, bothered him.

"You too." Tim replied with a small smile as he took a deep breath to help calm his nausea.

"Okay." Tony spun on his heels and ran off.

Tim jogged off in the opposite direction, turning the corner. God, his legs felt like jelly and the sweat was starting to pour out of him, taking away the clamminess and leaving him wringing wet instead.

One of the doors opened and a man appeared. He looked up startled and after spotting Tim, he sped off. With a groan, Tim ordered his weary legs, which seemed to weigh a ton, into a chase that he knew his body shouldn't be handling.

Davies threw open a door and ran onto the deck. As he looked back at his pursuer, he stumbled over a bolt and fell to his knees with a thud.

"NCIS!" Tim quickly aimed his Sig at the man who raised his hands in defeat and slowly stood up before taking small steps backwards, closer to the railing.

The NCIS agent edged closer until he stood beside the suspect, gun still trained on its target.

Tim cursed his weakness despite gaining the upper hand and hoped he would either have the man in cuffs or the back-up from his team before having to make another run for the heads.

Just as he was about to pat down the frisky suspect for a concealed weapon, a severe cramp hit him in the stomach which had him nearly bending double with the sudden assault of pain.

It was as if Davies had been waiting for this opportunity and he struck Tim in the face with his elbow. Tim's head flew back with the force and his side arm flew from his hand. However, he still had the presence of mind to struggle in the hopes of subduing the man; or at least keep him there until reinforcement arrived...hopefully soon.

It was a lost cause, for the man had been quick to determine the agent's weakness and so he planted a vicious kick in Tim's abdomen. Blinded by an excruciating pain, Tim stumbled backwards and then fell to the deck. Davies' shadow loomed over him and from the corner of his eye, Tim saw the man's foot coming towards him as if in slow motion. Unable to get away from the foot in time, he curled up, hiding his head in his arms, but his attempt to protect himself against the kick proved unsuccessful as Davies' foot connected violently with Tim's head. An extra push and a shove, and Tim was unceremoniously sent into the drink.

He was out cold before he hit the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the ship leaving him behind to drown in the torrid sea.

- -.-. -. . .


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N**: I don't have a medical degree so any errors (of which I hope there are few), are all mine.**  
**_

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_**Chapter 1**_

_**April 27, 2010**_

_**NCIS HQ**_

The case had been a killer, workload wise, and since Tim's computer investigative skills proved instrumental for capturing a cyber criminal network involving a DDoS boldly targeting the Federal Government network, he'd been on the task 24/7 to track down the people behind it. When his teammates had left for home, he'd still been either at his desk or down in CCU, fingers deftly flying across the keyboard and eyes fixed on the screen.

Vance had put him on the task because he was confident the techno-geeky agent could catch those responsible for the denial of service attack before they could flood and shut down the systems. Tim didn't disappoint his superior. And catch them, he did. For once, he even felt a warming satisfaction at having averted the threat, heading the team of CCU and tracking down what eventually turned out to be a cell of _hactivists_.

But once the adrenaline had run its course, he felt drained of energy and longed for his bed. The interminable hours behind his computers with hardly a break for food or shut-eye had taken its toll.

His body resistance had taken a downturn and before he knew it, he'd fallen sick.

Tim's throat hurt like he'd been feeding on glass. His voice had become raspy and his face had settled into an almost permanent grimace.

Swallowing proved sheer torture, so he took little food and because of a developing fever, he spent the night tossing and turning which left him with zero energy to get through another day and perform his duty.

Two days of this was all Gibbs could take. Enough was enough.

So when Tim, pale and sweaty, made his entrance for his second day of obvious malfunctioning, Gibbs stopped him right then and there, at the elevator, to send him straight down to Ducky.

"When you're sick, you call in sick, McGee. Got that?"

The younger man didn't reply and just stared at his feet.

That's when it hit Gibbs. Of course! How could he have forgotten about that? He remembered the only time his agent had faked a laryngitis or pharyngitis or whatever-itis. McGee had sent him an email to call in sick only to start a private investigation in his sister Sarah's case.

However now, even a child could see McGee was unwell and Gibbs sighed: "Tim, you can't perform the way you feel now. See Ducky, go home and get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah..." Tim croaked resignedly and painfully before turning on his heels and heading back into the elevator which would take him down to the morgue.

Ducky checked him all over, taking his temperature and finding he was running a fever. He observed Tim's difficulty in swallowing and spotted the telltale white patches on Tim's tonsils. Furthermore, Ducky had no trouble finding the enlarged lymph glands in Tim's neck.

Ducky tut-tutted. He would be very much surprized indeed if young Timothy wasn't suffering from a streptococcus bacterial infection.

Notwithstanding the fact that Ducky, as a Medical Examiner, didn't run his own practice, he had been chosen by Tim and some others as their physician. And he took great pride in still being able to have this function and provide them with quality health care. In this case, however, he saw no alternative but to refer Tim to a practising colleague.

So Tim drove straight from NCIS to a physician just around the corner of his block. Again he had his vitals checked and his inflamed throat examined. It took the doctor no more than a few minutes to run a rapid swab test – which had Tim gag - and confirm Ducky's suspicions. Without further ado, the doctor penned Tim a prescription for amoxicillin.

As he handed the prescription over, Tim was advised on the importance of finishing the full course and if he didn't feel any improvement after 24 to 48 hours, Tim was to give the doctor a call.

Nodding mutely as he carefully slid off the exam table, Tim then walked out with his prescription clutched in his hand.

- -.-. -. . .

**_May 1, 2010_**

**_Tim's Silver Spring apartment_**

All night long, he tossed and he turned, unable to find the least bit of sleep and he'd lost count of how many times he'd visited the bathroom. The last time he was pulled out of bed for the nausea, he had no energy left to drag himself back to the relative comfort of the bed and simply sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, leaning back against the tub.

Eyes closed, he now wondered why he was feeling so sick when his throat was feeling practically healed, apart from some residual hoarseness, and the fever completely gone.

This was so unfair. He just couldn't believe his spell of bad luck.

Eventually, knowing it was close to getting up anyway, he pulled himself up off the tiled floor stiffly and groaned loudly because every muscle in his body hurt.

A quick shower, pulling on his working clothes, no breakfast - for he couldn't keep anything down anyway – and he was as ready for work.

- -.-. -. . .


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N**: _Borderland (S07E22) - honesty dictates me to mention the use of some snippets of dialogue from that episode.

* * *

_**Chapter 2:**_

_******May 10, 2010**_

_**Benito Juárez, Mexico City**_

"This is going to be fun!" Abby exclaimed excitedly. "I've always wanted to be a teacher!"

After they'd dropped off their luggage in the guest room at the Justice Department's office, their taxi had taken them to the location where Abby was to hold her symposium.

They were early and still had a little time to their hands during which Abby was basically fidgeting with excitement whilst Tim was scooping at some local yogurt. Since he didn't stomach the antibiotic treatment, he'd somewhat needed to adapt his food pattern to what his body could handle.

Abby regarded him with an incredulous look bordering on irritation.

"McGee! Are you gonna eat through my entire presentation?"

Tim looked up at her, wondering why she would be thinking that. Of course he wasn't so ill mannered he'd eat throughout her class! He just needed something to tie him over and settle the uneasy feeling in his gut. Anyway, the trainees hadn't even arrived, yet, so why the rush?

"Mmmm..." He swallowed and pointed his spoon to the cup. "I've read that the local yogurt is amazing for your stomach."

"True. Lacto bacilus. Aids the digestion. However, that..." Abby pointed out, "is unpasteurized."

"What?" Tim thought, staring owlishly at her, his spoon frozen in midair.

"Is that bad?" The words had barely left his mouth when he realized the stupidity of his question.

"In Mexico? You might as well shoot yourself now." Abby replied flatly; her tone emphasizing the lack of sympathy towards his potentially horrible situation.

"_Geez! Why did he volunteer to be my escort?_" Abby wondered irritably, not for the first time. "_What's gonna happen if Alejandro does his little act undressing me with his eyes again? Imagine McGee making a scene!_"

McGee, meanwhile, shook his head and went on spooning the delicious yogurt. There was absolutely no way Mexico was selling unpasteurized yogurt anymore than the U.S. did; at least not any commercial area. It's not like Mexico was some third world country, was it? The Food Companies were sure to offer none other but industrialized products. So where was he to get the non-pasteurized yogurt in the first place? He had been sick with the Curse of Montezuma before. Once was enough and he'd been careful since because seriously, he did not want a repeat of that ever again.

What was more: what did she take him for? A moron? He didn't even bother to explain once again that he'd earned an MA at MIT plus graduated from Johns Hopkins University with a BS degree in Biomedical Engineering. Sometimes, he just wished that she'd stop treating him like a child or jamming it down his throat that he was several scales down her league when it came to brains, like she was super endowed with intelligence that, according to Abby, no one came close to...

Still, Abby's remark had him doubting his knowledge about the local Mexican yogurt.

He dumped the empty cup into the bin and looked at his watch when he saw the first student make an appearance. Yes, it was time to smile and look interested. It wasn't that he wasn't interested. Quite the contrary: he was looking forward to seeing how Abby was going to do with the teaching job on the forensics of cold cases.

"¡Ola! Bien venidos. Encantado. ¿Com' estas? Buenos dias. Mucho gusto. My name is Abby Sciuto. I'm a forensic scientist with NCIS." Abby blithely greeted the students once they'd settled down.

Just as Abby was getting to introduce Tim to the class, he felt his stomach twist up again and, clapping his hand to his mouth, he scampered off as fast and as collected as he could, straight for the restroom.

"And this is...That was Agent McGee who just ate some unpasteurized yogurt and is now probably going to make himself throw up."

Luckily, he didn't hear Abby's sardonic remark because, by that time, he'd already reached the end of the hallway.

He tried to ignore what she'd offhandedly said about the yogurt, but failed miserably.

What if Abby had been right after all?

Nah.

Then why this uncertainty all of a sudden? He was very much aware about the dangers of contaminated water or food. He was trained a scientist, after all. However, let's face it; he'd been plagued by this bug before he'd left on the trip to Mexico and this was probably just a bi-product of whatever he'd managed to catch in Washington DC.

He pushed open the door to the first stall and promptly threw up. Sheez! When was this ever gonna stop? Bending once more over the pot, he gagged, bringing up some more until he couldn't manage anything else but bile. Well, that got his whatever-pasteurized yogurt out of his system once and for all. Problem solved.

Leaning back against the wall, after he'd flushed the toilet, he groaned and wished he'd got rid of the bug too. In fact, he believed he had beaten it...until the moment he'd finished that cup of yogurt and he had to bolt from the classroom.

To top it off, he had been stupid enough to leave his Pepto-Bismol at his apartment.

The thought of the over-counter medicine that had helped him so much was pretty much useless because he was feeling even more drained than before and wondered if what little energy he got left had just been flushed down the toilet along with the contents of his stomach.

He slowly made for the sink and leaning his palms on it, he stared athis reflection in the mirror. Staring into the mirror,he didn't even recognize his own reflection. What he saw was a gaunt and sickly individual; dark circles making his eyes look more sunken in acolorless face.

Gasping, he touched his face with trembling fingers and deliberately shook himself away from the stranger in the mirror and bent over the sink, turning on the tap.

Splashing the cool, fresh water over his face, he felt the nausea recede slightly. He tapped his face with his hands and was gratified to notice some color return to his cheeks.

There. Feeling better already.

With a sigh of relief, he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and, straightening his back, he walked back to the classroom.

Crisis averted...for now.

- -.-. -. . .

Later that night, after Abby's first lecturing day, they found themselves back at the guest room getting ready for bed. Abby wore her new black pyjamas with little white skulls and Tim had put on a plain white T-shirt. As they were pottering about in the room, they discussed that day's events and their brush with the Reynosa drug cartel.

"Got a bad feeling about this case." Abby stated.

Tim shook up a pillow and tossed it on the sofa. "Yeah, I got a bad feeling about this bed… You want to flip for the couch?"

"C'mon, McGee. It's not like we haven't shared a bed together before."

"Well, technically, that was a coffin and I'm just letting you know that if you and I sleep in this bed together, I am a Quasimodo for a week."

With a knowing smile, Abby takes a pillow from the bed and walked over to the couch.

"Now I know why Ziva took the couch in Paris."

"Odd," Tim thought.

"Tony said that HE took the couch in Paris..."

They both looked at one another quizzically but then went about their business again.

"Mmmm..." Tim said, as he took his toiletries and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

The case simply wouldn't leave Abby and she frowned as she ran over the facts in her head.

"Why do you think the policia didn't investigate the case further...?"

"Well," Tim commented from the bathroom, wrapping his words around his toothbrush, "he's a drug dealer...Crimes like that are a dime a dozen down here."

"Maybe... Maybe not..." Abby replied introspectively. "I think I'm developing my own gut."

Tim popped his head from around the corner, gesticulating with his toothbrush.

"Yeah... I was gonna mention it to you… You look like you've put on a few pounds lately."

But Abby wasn't laughing. In fact, she was just glaring at him and then he knew for sure he'd only succeeded in making her mad.

He held out his arms in that apologetic way of his. "C'm on! I'm kidding."

She still didn't react. Just stood there looking daggers at him. Not the sweet Abby he'd known... Come to think of it; that had been ages ago. Where had that funny girl gone? He now more than ever regretted volunteering to be her escort. What had he been thinking?

Laughing nervously, he went on: "Alright. That was silly. I'm sorry. Look, you look great. I mean; I actually noticed that you really look great lately. Actually..."

After what seemed like eternity, she finally stirred and started to gather some bedding.

"Uhm... Where are you going?"

"I...am going to sleep on my lab table."

"Oh come on! I said I was sorry."

"Oh and you don't know how much," she bit back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Walking out of the room, she gave her parting shot. "Oh, you don't know how much. You forgot to use bottled water on your toothbrush! This is not a room I want to sleep in tonight!"

And then...she was gone...

Tim stared at the door for a few stunned moments.

What in the name of all that was dear to him was that about!

Should he go after her? After all, wasn't it his duty to protect her? What was that with her that she always managed to confuse him?

He sighed and headed back into the bathroom to switch off the light before padding towards the bed. This bed he would now have all to himself tonight. All by himself in a Mexican guestroom. As he stood staring at it accusingly, he ran his thin fingers through his hair.

They could've fit into it, sleeping together, even if it would've felt somewhat awkward. They weren't exactly together anymore. He'd already experienced some degree of discomfort lying all cramped up in a bed too short to accommodate his long legs and not enough space to turn, so this really wouldn't be that different…apart from the fact that Abby had been off with him from the start; almost angry at the fact that he even existed.

In all honesty, he could be a restless sleeper and lying side by side with Abby wouldn't have been easy. Had they still been together, it would've at least been tolerable and somewhat cosy snuggling close to one another. Sure they'd spooned in happier days, but unfortunately, those days were long gone. Even the days of friendship seemed to be disappearing into the background lately.

Tim sighed at the memories before gripping is belly with the pain that seared through him. He clenched his teeth together as cramps assaulted his intestines.

"Oh no!" He groaned, pivoting, and dashed into the bathroom once more.

Apparently, all this thinking and remembering had been acting as a stress factor triggering off another bout of nausea and cramps. It was then, that he was instantly and painfully reminded of that other and most important reason why he couldn't share a bed with Abby. The way he was feeling, now, he knew only too well his sleep would be fitful at best and that was if sleep even found him at all!

When he was done, he struggled up from the kneeling position in front of the toilet and flushed. Moving to the sink, he grabbed the bottle of water that Abby had put there earlier and rinsed his mouth out.

Shuffling back to bed and letting himself fall onto it, groaning as he pulled the blankets up and under his chin.

God! This was going to be a very long, long, long night. Abby was right, he thought, suddenly seeing the sense in Abby's snarky remark about not wanting to be in the same room. There was little sense in both of them acting like zombies in front of a whole classroom tomorrow and no doubt, it would spark questions in the young students as to why they were so tired.

He buried his face in the pillow, moaning in misery and pain as the cramps and endless spells of nausea kept coming in waves. His total misery and discomfort, made him break out in a cold sweat and he new he was burning up, so the heat rolling off his skin would have just agitated Abby more. Recently, even being sick hadn't made her icy fascia melt.

Why was this happening again? Now?

- -.-. -. . .

_**May 11, 2010**_

_**Benito Juárez, Mexico City**_

When the alarm on his cell went off, it took a while before it dawned on him what that sound was. Finally, he realized it was time to get up, so At least the pain had subdued enough to have a quick shower. The hot water sluicing over his body would surely help with the residual aches and pains and would set him up nicely for the rest of the day. Thankfully, there was an anti-slip mat taking away the main worry of slipping and falling rather unfortunately. Imagine a dizzy spell making him stumble and slip into a rather indecorous heap in the cubicle and maybe hurting himself in the process!

Thankfully, the shower was without accidents and didn't take long. In fact, the warm water revived him somewhat. As he towelled his hair dry, he felt relieved to feel more like a human again.

Once he was ready, he picked up his bag and headed out of the door, straight to the nearest pharmacist to load up on Pepto-Bismol, anti-emetics to help with nausea and painkillers. He grimaced as he thought back to the tea and toast he'd had for breakfast and stood resolutely on the need for medication at this point. It had taken a grand total of five minutes before dashing off to the bathroom, and if meds helped with keeping everything at bay, then that was his priority no matter what Abby said.

When he walked into the classroom, Abby only briefly looked up.

"You look like crap, McGee."

He couldn't believe he could feel so hurt by her off-hand remark but lack of sympathy and the snarkiness in her voice hit him as thought he'd been physically punched in the gut.

"Yeah. What a brilliant piece of deduction," he thought bitterly.

"Didn't get much sleep, did you?" She sneered, taking in his rather tense and pale face, knowing full well he was too much a gentleman to come back in style.

What was there to say, anyway. It wasn't like she would feel sorry for him. So why was he still holding this forlorn hope she would show some compassion?

"Am I glad I took the right decision last night. At least I got my sleep."

Tim didn't bother replying and turned to go and sit in the rear of the room from where he would keep an eye on Abby without irritating her any further. The way she was now, he had little doubt that she would toss some spiteful remarks his way for all those attending to hear…and he was right. The class hadn't even fully started when she drew the students' attention towards the silent agent in the back.

"So, Agent McGee... How's your Montezuma's Revenge coming along? I sure hope you won't disturb my class by running off to the restroom every 5 minutes?"

Her derisive remark had the class snickering and his heart began to hammer in his chest as his face burned with embarrassment.

Slowly raising himself from his chair, he deliberately addressed her and the class. "In that case, I'll leave the students in your capable hands and take a walk. Some exercise and fresh air will sure do me good."

He wasn't one bit sorry to leave Mexico. He didn't know about Abby, since she wouldn't speak to him at all and both had sunk into the most uncomfortable silence they'd ever experienced together during the entire flight home.

- -.-. -. . .


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3:**_

_**May 13, 2010**_

_**NCIS HQ**_

By the time they were back at NCIS, the case of the cut off feet had been solved and they all went back to their normal routines…or at least, they tried. The rest of the team did have their suspicions that not all was right with their friends following their return from Mexico. Something that was only exacerbated by the scowl that Abby wore whenever she caught sight of Tim.

That paled in comparison to the fact that Tim had got so thin it was becoming worrisome. The team couldn't look past the pallor on his face, the dark circles around his eyes and his lackluster demeanor. Of course, Tony - always the clown on the team - couldn't resist teasing his friend about the bottle of Pepto-Bismol Tim had been carrying with him since the day he and Abby got back from Mexico and he rather enjoyed watching his friend go green behind the gills as he described every gory detail on the murder case they'd just solved while "the two love birds" were holidaying in Mexico.

With what he'd observed of Abby's attitude towards Tim and his friend's obvious distress, he was sure Tim lay at the cause of the apparent estrangement between the two. He wouldn't be surprised McGee had at some point failed in his job as escort to Abby because in his eyes, McGee always messed up when Abby was in his charge.

Ziva was confident this would all blow over given time. She knew McGee well enough to know he would talk when he felt ready to. But for now, all she could see were the walls he'd drawn up around him. She only hoped it was sooner than later because truthfully, Gibbs seemed to favor their Goth and Tim would surely be the one to bear the brunt of his displeasure.

- -.-. -. . .

To Tim, every minute at his desk was a minute too long. The days dragged by slowly, making him feel like being part of the chain gang. The days had been interminably long and tiring.

The team leader couldn't feel but help the tension which hung in the air like electricity. Something was off with Abby and McGee and he didn't like it one bit the way things were going. What had happened back in Mexico? He'd talked to Abby when he'd gone down to the lab because he wanted to hear her findings on the bullet he'd presented her after Ducky had plucked it out of the mummified body of Pedro Hernandez.

As soon as Gibbs had entered the lab, he was struck by a foreboding sensation. The first thing that struck him was the distinct lack of Abby's deafening music. What's more, the air had been thick with tension and, when she eventually turned to face him, he had been dismayed to see her still this unhappy. He'd thought they'd talked the Hernandez case out, last night when Abby had barged into his basement.

She had come to tell him personally and rather passionately she'd matched the bullet in Pedro Hernandez' head to his sniper rifle. Then, she got on a roll and she had accused him of having killed the killer of his wife and daughter in cold blood. Lastly, having somewhat calmed down again, she admitted she was in limbo over this horrid discovery.

Gibbs knew he had disappointed her big time by his heinous act of revenge. But what was there to say? There was no undoing this.

_"Then… tell me how much I've been like a daughter to you… and how much you love me."_

_"Will that help?"_

_"No. What I really need to know, Gibbs… is if you're going to love me, no matter what."_

Of course, he hadn't been happy about her discovery. And he'd expected she'd still be sulking over this. However, he wasn't ready to put up with a depressed Abby right now.

Oh, there was no mistaking this, but he _did _love Abs like a daughter.

Right now, though, he was more concerned about what had happened between her and McGee.

When he'd seen both working in the lab, yesterday, McGee had seemed…too chipper.

Gibbs had always known McGee was a bad liar. Heck! About everyone on the agency knew!

Yet, McGee had made a real effort of putting up an act by behaving as if all was well with the world…between him and Abby.

Abby's face spoke differently, and it wasn't only about his 308 Winchester bullet, allegedly from Gibbs' M24 SWS, having prematurely ended the Mexican drugs baron's life.

"Abs…" Gibbs started.

"…"

"What's going on between you and McGee. What's happened in Mexico?"

A look of alarm crossed her face at the mention of McGee but it had vanished just as quickly.

"Nothing happened, Gibbs. Why? Did he say something?"

She was virtually trembling with barely contained rage. She couldn't believe McGee had ratted on her about them having been lined up execution style by the Reynosa cartel.

"And what would that be?" Gibbs mildly asked her.

"What are you talking about?"

_Geez! What a time for Gibbs to play riddles!_

"You tell me, Abs." He countered unperturbed.

She stomped her boots and then turned back to her computer.

Abby bit her lip.

Would she tell him? After all, nobody could keep secrets from the fierce Silver Fox. He was like an all seeing eye. He knew there was something up and she was certain Tim had babbled, anyway. No doubt he'd already elaborated the whole incident in his report.

Making a decision, she faced him defiantly.

"I took the students out in the field for my lecture and Paloma Reynosa and her goonies had us all lined up."

Gibbs smiled sadly with a small shake of his head, saying nothing. He just let her continue.

"I was just explaining ballistics and discussing how shoddy police work leads to…cold…cases…like this one… How could I... Besides, McGee, he..."

"He what, Abby?"

"Well, he was there with me, wasn't he?"

He gave an aggravated sigh at her evasive replies and fixed her with one of his sternest looks.

"One last time: what happened in Mexico between you and McGee, Abby?"

"Gi-i-iiibbbs!" She protested with a hurt look on her face. Why was Gibbs acting like this to her? What had she done wrong?

"McGee looked like crap when he returned from Mexico."

"So that's it? He's been whining like a baby to you? About that! He should've used bottled water. Can I help it he's sick? It's not that I didn't warn him! Besides, he's over it. He already seemed better yesterday."

"Yeah... Feeding on the Pepto-Bismol bottle, more like."

Without another word, he briskly turned around and hurried out of the lab. He would have Ducky give his agent a look-over and then send him home to rest. For now, that was the best he could do.

- -.-. -. . .

Tim had been given a cursory check-up by Ducky. Of course, the abdominal discomfort had considerably lessened and Ducky had agreed that, if Tim was feeling better, it probably wasn't anything worse but a simple if irritating case of intestinal flu having run most of its course when in Mexico. Very inconvenient, but it couldn't be helped.

After spending his imposed leave resting and lazing away, taking over-the-counter medication, and taking great care of what he ate and drank, virtually all of the remaining symptoms had resolved and after two days, Tim had been allowed to return to work.

Since things between him and Abby hadn't really improved, he was happy to concentrate on cold cases. He didn't even have to leave his desk for the task.

He was still not feeling up to par, yet, but it was infinitely better than staying at home where he was doing little else beside fretting.

- -.-. -. . .


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4:**_

**_June 19, 2010_**

**_NCIS HQ_**

"Hey McGee! It's Jimmy's turn to buy. Are you up to it?"

"Nah, Tony. I think I'll pass for this week." He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "I think I'll make it an early night, guys."

"I thought your throat was much better, McGee," Ziva said, peering at him worriedly.

Tim smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, it is, Ziva. I'm still on antibiotics," He zipped his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "but I should be fit as fiddle on Monday."

In the elevator, he gave the others a little wave before the doors slid closed: "Well, have fun, guys."

However, on Sunday night, he experienced intense nausea and shivering and he groaned at the realization that this was exactly what he'd felt at the start of his stomach problems little over a month ago. His belly had been contracting and hardening in waves of pain and he'd spent most of the night in the bathroom. It was Mexico all over again.

- -.-. -. . .

**June 22, 2010**

As the light of dawn filtered into his bedroom, Tim sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom. Turning on he tap, he splashed his face with the cool water. After towelling himself dry, he leaned both hands on the sink and stared at his reflection. What he saw, made him groan and look away again.

He continued to get ready for work and had a light breakfast which consisted of toast and water...which he promptly brought up again.

Okay, then; another day of fasting.

He sighed and wondered if he was ever going to get rid of this rather persistent infection.

Ducky had read him the riot act after his strep throat had manifested again. Obviously, and to Ducky's unmitigated dismay, the earlier treatment hadn't completely eradicated the streptococcus infection.

He rinsed his mouth and took another tablet of his antibiotic prescription with some water which, to his relief, he managed to keep down.

Well, the sore throat had mostly healed again. Question remained: for how long, this time?

- -.-. -. . .

Riding the elevator, he grabbed the straps of his backpack in preparation to step out as soon as the doors opened at bullpen level.

What he hadn't been prepared to, was the rest of his team surging inside, pushing him to the back of the car.

Gibbs punched the button to the garage as the others filled him in.

"The drug ring. Things are on the move, McGee." Tony enlightened him.

"Uh...Weren't we going to wait until the _French Ensor Chadwick _berthed at Norfolk to bring in Cartwright? Besides, we don't know who else is involved. I was still working on..."

"Cartwright is dead, McGee. We have only just been informed he has been found lying dead in his bunk. Somebody slit his throat; "exsanguinated" him... Their exact words. You know as well as we do that he was not working alone." Ziva replied.

Tony watched for Tim's reaction and wasn't disappointed in seeing his co-worker pale considerably.

"Yep. Seems like someone silenced our pusher. We suspect his accomplices. Someone must've known we were after him and that he would eventually spill the beans on them."

Tim gulped and, leaning forward towards the team leader, grabbed him by the arm.

"Boss. Do you really need me there? I'd rather stay at my desk. You may need someone here in case you..."

"Nope, Tim. You're with us."

As they left the elevator, Gibbs tossed him a bottle of Dramamine. "Here. Take these. We're taking a chopper. With a little luck, you'll be fine by the time we get to the ship."

Tim seemed to deflate. Oh boy. This was going to be a long, long, long day... His stomach was not going to like this. In fact, he already felt like a horde of pesky critters were holding a protest march in his stomach!

Defeated, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the elevator.

- -.-. -. . .

So the team had flown out to a location at approximately 80 miles off the Virginia coast to investigate the extent of the navy drug ring that smuggled illicit drugs such as anabolic steroids and ecstasy on board the USS _French Ensor Chadwick_.

The outcry of "Man overboard!" filled Tony with foreboding. His experience as Agent Afloat enabled him to make an educated guess where the call came from, right where he'd sent Tim to check on Davies.

Having caught his man who stood a little dazed with his face planted against the wall, Tony pushed Beresford inside the nearest cabin and unceremoniously dumped him on the bunk to which he deftly cuffed the man. He quickly left the cabin closing the door and ordered a passing seaman to guard the prisoner as he took off.

On his way to the weather deck, he called Gibbs to clue him in on what he knew and what he feared.

Having arrived on deck, he spotted a small crowd at the rail. One man was extending his arm to point at a spot astern of the ship, whilst others were lowering the RHIB with the rescue team.

Tony's eyes sought the deck for his team mate, already suspecting the worst but still hoping he'd spot Tim.

No such luck, though.

He stepped up to the railing and strained his eyes to see how the rescue was progressing.

Meanwhile, the ship's engines had slowed down and more of the ship's company had turned up on deck.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Gibbs and Ziva approach him, accompanied by an officer and two AB's.

"McGee?" Gibbs asked, already dreading the answer.

He nodded.

"I sent him after Davies... Must've gone bad. Davies..." He shrugged. "He's got nowhere to run."

"No he hasn't. Ziva, go and find him." Gibbs ordered Ziva, motioning the officer and two seamen to go with her.

He turned back to Tony. "Beresford?"

"I left him cuffed in a cabin. Posted a man in front of it."

"Boss," Tony said as he turned abruptly towards Gibbs. "He was really sick. We should've left him at his desk like he asked!"

He directed his gaze astern of the ship again and was relieved to see the rescue team heave his friend's limp body into the RHIB.

- -.-. -. . .


	6. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I'm off on a sailing trip on a tall ship, so I hope you'll bear with me. As soon as I'm back, I'll post the next chapter. You may, of course, all hope I won't go over the side into the drink or the story may never get finished. ;D Nah, I wouldn't dare do that to you, guys. :)))  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 5:**_

_**June 23, 2010**_

**_Bethesda Naval Hospital_**

Waking up at a hospital wasn't easy. Was it ever? It wasn't easy for anybody and so it wasn't easy for Timothy McGee.

So when he _did _wake up, he found it quite hard to focus as the room seemed to swim before his eyes. Blinking a few times for the worst of the blurriness to dissipate, he was met with the wide angle view of Anthony DiNozzo looming over him. A little frightening...this close up.

Tim turned his achy head, his whole body protesting, to let his eyes roam around the room looking for an indication of his current location.

His gaze slowly travelled back towards Tony who was now sitting back in a chair he'd drawn up close to the bed.

"Hospital… Why? What happened?" He croaked as he squinted at his partner, finding it still hard to focus. He still wasn't fully awake.

At that moment, a doctor walked into the room, followed by Gibbs and an apparently remorseful Abby almost hiding behind his back.

"Ah, good to see you awake, agent McGee. I'm your treating physician, Dr. Urban. How are you fee…?"

He didn't get the chance to ask how his patient was feeling as Tim's face contorted, immediately followed by him leaning over to the side, feeling the pull of the IV line in his arm

Tony had been quick to intervene by grabbing the emesis basin sitting on the night table and holding it under Tim's chin; at the same time steadying his friend with a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Ho-ho-ho-hooo, Tim. You're no longer on the ship, man. You should tell your tummy that." Tony might have been joking about it, but it was the worry speaking…in a way only Tim would understand.

When he was done, Tim, panting and pale as the sheets on his bed, lay back, letting his head sink into the pillows again. A sudden stab of pain shooting through his head, prompted him to shut his eyes tightly.

"Hmmm…" Dr. Urban set aside his map containing his patient's medical files and took a light from his pocket which he proceeded to shine into Tim's eyes after he'd gently asked Tim to open them. Then, his hand went to Tim's wrist to feel for a pulse.

"I think I've just received your answer to my…unfinished question, agent McGee."

Noting something on Tim's chart, he turned back to his patient. "Do you remember what happened?"

A wince and a shaky breath. "I…er…"

A barely perceptible nod – he wanted to avoid any excessive movement – as fragments of what had happened came back to mind. "I went in pursuit after a suspect…on…on a ship. The…the…er…." Tim cleared his throat before continuing. "The French Ensor Chadwick. We struggled… I got kicked… That's all I remember."

"Good… Good. Now, let me explain. Your body has indeed taken some hits, but the worst was delivered to your head. However, you're in luck. We're keeping you in the hospital for observation; at least till tomorrow. You're on a saline solution. I was given to understand that your adventure on the high seas left you somewhat…prone to seasickness which left you dehydrated."

Tim squirmed in his bed and his breath quickened.

That caught the doctor's attention and he laid his hand soothingly on Tim's arm. "I understand you're dizzy and experiencing nausea, but these symptoms should be subsiding soon. Nothing to worry about. Your abdominal muscles will be tender for at least a week. We've found no other trauma."

Gibbs stepped closer while Abby remained where she was, making sure she wasn't attracting any of Tim's attention towards her.

"You sure there's nothing else wrong with my agent, doc?"

"I don't see why there should be, sir?" He checked the file again, hoping he hadn't missed anything. His shift had been a long and exhausting one, filling in for a sick colleague but to actually overlook things to the detriment of his patients?

"Your man is suffering from a moderate concussion and bruising in the abdominal region. Also dehydration due to the seasickness with its resulting regurgitation episodes... There are no fractures or internal injuries... I can only foresee a speedy recovery. You'll have to deal with some discomfort from the headaches for some time and, please, avoid any further head injuries."

Observing how they all visibly relaxed, Dr. Urban bid them a good day and continue his rounds.

At this point, Tim had once again closed his eyes and drifted off into slumber.

Knowing their team mate would need his healing sleep, they all left the room taking comfort in the knowledge he would be fine.

Tomorrow was another day. They'd be back.

- -.-. -. . .

Right after work, Ducky decided to pay young Timothy a visit. He had nothing to do, that night, so he might as well keep the young man some company.

Of course, a concussion was not something to be trifled with, and the other, albeit superficial, injuries, Ducky wasn't sure in what state he would find the injured agent. If the young man was awake, he might enjoy a chat, and if he wasn't yet ready for one, Ducky could just sit and read for a while.

He leisurely strolled up the corridor of the ward, checking the numbers for Tim's room. Finding it, he knocked and entered and was treated with the sight of Tim in the midst of a cramp.

Moving quickly to the bed, he tested the moaning young man's temperature with the back of his hand, at the same time taking in the patient's distress.

Tim's hand grasped Ducky's and his pleading eyes set off an alarm bell to Ducky who promptly pushed the button for help.

Could it be that...? Oh dear... How could he have missed that!

- -.-. -. . .


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I'm back sound and safe; had some fun climbing the rigging and mastheading. Standing at the wheel during the middle watch can be rather boring...  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 6:**_

_**June 23, 2010**_

_**Gibbs' Basement**_

The hands pushed the plane in a steady rhythm along the board of rich colored quilted maple. The strokes were long and smooth; the fluid motion displaying a calm which he wasn't really feeling. The paper-thin curls of wood dwindled down to rest in a pile on the floor.

His mind kept going to his youngest agent and his forensic scientist as he set his plane to the side and let his hand trail along the silky surface of his current wood furniture project to feel for any irregularities. He loved the light reddish brown figured tones of this wood which, in the right lighting, had the appearance of shimmering gold rivulets.

Taking up the tool again, he bent over the board to resume the planing.

He'd sensed the visitor long before that person announced his or her presence. It had become a habit to Gibbs to wait until his visitors were ready to talk to him.

One particular memory stood out as his mind went back to the times his team members...family...had found him here in his basement to talk. That evening, he had come down the stairs into his own basement to find a drunk Abby sanding his Kelly...

...and how he'd corrected her...technique...

"_...with the grain..._"

Come to think of it! How odd was it that he now compared Abby to the grain of this piece of maple he was working on? These contrasts in grain, the burls and swirls of this beautifully textured wood reminded him of his Goth girl: enigmatic, complicated and capricious, yet soft and delicate. And playful like a child...

His eyes pensively fixed on his hands, he continued the sliding motion.

"Gibbs…"

_There._

Ready.

He didn't look up. Not right away. Never appear too eager. Always be patient and in control.

Gibbs put the plane down and slowly turned to face her. He leaned back against the work table and crossed his arms. Waiting.

Gibbs felt he still didn't know half of what had happened between Abby and McGee.

She'd been uncharacteristically subdued after their albeit short tête-à-tête and he didn't have the slightest doubt about it that she hadn't been as forthright as she'd given him to understand.

"About McGee…" Abby tentatively started.

Still nothing from Gibbs. His silence was starting to become rather unnerving, she found, and she didn't like it one bit.

"Gibbs! Say something!" She pleaded.

"Still waiting, Abs. For what you left out last time," he replied calmly.

She bent her head to stare at the ground…her eyes settling on the pile of shavings. She didn't know where to start.

"I feel that something is bothering you, Abby. I can only help you if you tell me what is wrong. Is it something McGee did? What did he do, Abs."

She merely shrugged.

He sighed.

Her petulant and childish behavior wasn't helping the situation. He really needed to understand the reason behind their falling out and he realized only too well he would get nowhere unless he took the bull by the horns...or Abby by her ponytails.

He suppressed the urge to head slap her. However, he knew this method wouldn't work on her as it did to his agents. It never failed on them. On her, on the other hand...a more delicate, special approach was needed.

"Look, Abs. I've seen McGee and he didn't look too good. And I know it's not because of what happened on the ship. This has been an ongoing affair and my gut just screams at me this has everything to do about something between you and him. I want you to help me out on this one. I owe him that."

Abby turned her back on Gibbs and grabbed his mug which she found on a shelf. Next, her hands reached for the Bourbon of which she poured a liberal shot into the mug.

"_Talk _to me, Abs."

She took a swig, and found the amber liquid burning its fiery trail down her throat and through her gut somewhat steadying. It didn't bring her much emotional relief, though.

She _had _been feeling bad about what had happened. She had seen Tim deteriorate. How could she miss it? She knew him better than anyone else ever did. She knew his fears, his worries; but also his joys and hopes.

She had known he had been suffering from his throat...and had just let him. Ignoring him when his health issues got worse, trusting he'd be back fit and well.

And then...there was Mexico...and Alejandro...

...and Paloma from the Reynosa drug cartel disrupting the field trip with the students...

"_It's not my fault..._"

But would Gibbs see it that way? Would she get away with it _this _time?

Her eyes caught sight of Gibbs' mallet. It was the same like that other time. She hadn't been entirely honest about what had happened at McGee's apartment when he'd been ordered to protect her from her stalking ex-boyfriend Mikel.

It _had _been her fault, then. _She _had been the one to force McGee to leave the apartment to get that stupid toothbrush, knowing McGee couldn't deny her anything; never could say "no" to whatever she demanded from him. _She _had been the one to let Mikel in, thus acting against McGee's explicit orders. And _he_ was the one ending up getting punished by Gibbs.

And she'd broken Tim's treasured vintage typewriter.

Not her fault?

Whom was she deluding? If not herself?

Why was it that she could always trust Gibbs would never consider any failure her fault? Why could she always get away with this game?

What had changed now?

Abby felt this overwhelming urge to slip away from the basement...from Gibbs... "_Flee from the wrath to come_."

But before she could make that very move...he'd slipped past her to sit on the stairs, an expectant glint in his eye, willing her to finally talk.

"Alejandro..." she started hesitantly.

And then it suddenly hit him.

"Jealousy? It was all about _jealousy_?"

She nodded and studied the liquid swirling in her mug.

"Alejandro Rivera? So that's why you treated McGee this crappy? Because he was jealous?"

A shrug was all he got for an answer.

There surely was more than she let on.

"Go on."

She walked over to sit in front of him, leaning against the wall.

"Me and...McGee...Timmy... We have something."

"I thought you'd broken up with him long ago?"

"We had but we still remained friends. Very...close...friends."

"That why you're always pissed when he has a new girl?"

She looked up defiantly.

"So is he, Gibbs! And he was like that when...Rivera was fawning all over me. Drove McGee nuts. That's why I didn't want him with me as an escort."

She gave a shrug. "And he'd started whining about his delicate stomach the moment we arrived at Benito Juárez!"

Gibbs nodded sadly, knowing it had probably been because his agent had been feeling out of sorts for a while. But why would McGee volunteer? It didn't make sense.

"Besides, he had that crazy eyed Agent Grady having a crush on him."

And God knew what other females got attracted by McGee's pheromones!

Like Paloma Reynosa...

"_You're a brave man Timothy McGee, do you know who I am?_"

"Doesn't that just make you as jealous as he is, Abs? Don't you think you're hardly in a position to blame him for being unable to resist other women? Or being considered sexually attractive himself? Seems pretty clear to me it's a case of the pot calling the kettle black."

"Gibbs!"

She was appalled at his observation.

But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit he was right. Gibbs always got it right.

"He still loves ya, doesn't he? And you intend to keep it that way. Like keeping a dog on a leash."

That last remark made her boil with fury and she lashed out: "Don't you dare..."

"He's not some puppy, Abs. You can't keep him close like this forever. He has his own life to live and one day, he'll find the right girl for him. You've already made it clear to him you don't want to spend the rest of your life by his side and he's fully aware of this, isn't he?"

"It's not like that! I would!"

"Then what is it?"

"He...he wanted more. He _wants _more. And I can't...give him that..." she finished in a tiny voice.

There. It was out. She'd never talked about this with anyone else but Timmy...when they broke up.

"So you're punishing him for this. For something you couldn't...offer. You don't want anyone else to have him if you can't have him all to yourself."

"Now that's low, Gibbs, and you know it! Hello-oooow! Remember he's just as jealous? It's not just me! I'm not the only one to be blamed!" Abby replied tersely.

Gibbs recognized her sharp reaction as a big warning signal. Yet, he chose to ignore it, knowing as he was about the only person who could.

"Admit it you didn't need him there with you in Mexico."

"I certainly didn't need a baby-sitter," she huffed.

"Nobody would've been allowed to go without protection, Abs, and you know it."

"I can look after myself."

"Really? So what was it then? Since you seem to have handled the field trip situation pretty well without McGee's help. Oh I have a good idea of what happened then, even if McGee most likely left some details out in his report. I'm more inclined to believe McGee did a fine job keeping you _and _your students safe!"

She was silent.

"You needed your escort and you know it. But, no, you chose to simply brush off the incident and continue with what you were doing."

Still not a word, which gave him all the evidence he needed that he'd been right in his assumption. His gut had rarely failed him. After all, his gut had become legendary within NCIS.

"He had been sick already, hadn't he? Your unpasteurized yogurt and unbottled water had nothing to do with it. I know how McGee's mind works and I'm also well aware of his degrees. I personally handpicked him to complement the team for some reason, Abs. Wouldn't you think so, too? Would you really go so far as to question his intelligence. I think he would know what to eat and how safe the tap water would be."

From her continuous silence he got the confirmation he was right.

What _he _did not know, was that she had been aware of all this all along and that had been why she was mostly angry with herself. She hadn't been ready to admit it.

She abruptly got up and started pacing the basement.

Eventually, she stopped in front of him and looked him in the eyes. Blue rather...disappointed and hurt...eyes.

"I know. I've been such a bad person, right? I'm truly sorry, Gibbs. I really am."

Gibbs pushed himself up from his position on the stairs and, stooping to recover the empty mug from where Abby had left it, moved to pour himself a well-deserved shot of Bourbon.

"I'm not the one you have to apologize to. McGee is. He never deserved the cold shoulder treatment you gave him."

He turned around to face her just in time to see her rekindled exuberance be replaced by a look of worry.

"Will he want to see me, Gibbs?"

Gibbs wanted to roll his eyes in a way he'd so often caught McGee do it.

Really! He marvelled at the speed she could switch moods! From exuberance to agitation.

"Abs..." he growled.

"He'll be mad at me! And with good reason! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"

She was running in a little circle like some headless chicken, one of her ponytails hitting Gibbs in the face.

"Abby! Stop this!" He restrained her by the grabbing her by the shoulders.

"I can't see him! I'll only be upsetting him!"

"Just...go in and tell him. Trust me, he'll be relieved and happy to see you."

She nodded with a renewed determination.

"Yes. Timmy has always forgiven me. He will again."

With that, she was up the stairs and gone like a whirlwind.

Gibbs sighed and wondered how many more times "Timmy" was going to be as forgiving.

It was time insouciant Abby was growing up. At least it would help prevent future issues.

- -.-. -. . .


	8. Epilogue

_**A/N: We have reached the end of this story and I hope you all enjoyed the read.  
**_

_**I wish to express my most sincere thanks for the readers and reviewers as well as the followers and those who were so kind to favorite my story.  
**_

* * *

**_Epilogue_**

**_June 24, 2010_**  
**_Bethesda Naval Hospital_**

"In order to discover what was wrong with agent McGee, we needed to understand every symptom and his health history. Based on what we've learned, there was a distinct chronology in his symptoms."

When Tim shifted on the bed, his belly muscles contracted painfully. Yet, he was feeling more optimistic by the way the doctor was explaining his poor health lately. In fact, he'd already been feeling much better. He wasn't alone in thinking one particular person had been in part responsible for the positive change...since this morning.

That morning, he'd been surprised to wake up to two visitors, one of which he hadn't exactly anticipated. He'd felt an unpleasant tensing in his stomach when his eyes caught sight of Abby, hesitating by the door, as if afraid to come closer.

With a wink towards Tim, Gibbs gave Abby a little push in the back to get her feet moving.

But Tim's greatest surprise had been when she'd stood humbly beside his bed and meekly apologized for her behavior in Mexico and afterwards. She hadn't been profuse but he was convinced she had been honest.

Gibbs had been gratified to see the air visibly clear between both young people – as if an enormous weight had been lifted from their shoulders and he was pleased to leave Tim in the loving care of Abby.

Now, as the doctor continued to explain Tim's medical status, Abby leaned close to her friend and brushed back the strands of soft hair that had fallen across his face.

"To begin with," the doctor addressed Tim, "you were diagnosed with streptococcal pharyngitis and treated accordingly. Dr. Mallard has greatly helped by informing us about the excessive workload plus ensuing stress - not too mention the countless sleepless nights resulting from it – which appear to have impacted your immune system."

"But why me? Why haven't the others been affected? Surely I wasn't the only one under stress?"

"Streptococcal pharyngitis is a highly contagious disease, Agent McGee. In all likelihood, you've been infected with the causal bacteria days to months before any symptoms were observed. In your specific case, the stress of the past few months triggered off the symptoms. Now I've heard you'd been put on antibiotics to treat the infection?"

Tim nodded.

"Quite. And I've been made to believe you did complete the course?"

"I did."

"Indeed. Well, then. I also understood from your doctor you'd been experiencing some severe side-effects from the antibiotics such as nausea and vomiting? That didn't cause you to discontinue the course?"

"No, it didn't."

"I see. Well, we're getting close to the bottom of this rather special case." Dr. Urban smiled.

"I don't particularly care about whether or not my case is special, Dr. Urban," Tim replied, all but rolling his eyes. "I'm more interested in what happened to me and how I can get well again...the sooner the better. You'll understand I'm getting...pardon me...a little sick of this. Drives me nuts."

"Of course, Agent McGee. We are fairly certain you suffered an antibiotic associated irritation of the gastrointestinal tract caused by the clostridium difficile bacteria. Yes, antibiotics can, in rare cases such as yours, change the normal bacteria in your body. As a result, the treatment was disrupted to some degree by the episodes of vomiting. You went about your normal activities because your throat was 'seemingly' healed. The bacteria, however, hadn't been entirely eradicated and thus you ended up with a recurring strep infection."

"Wow! A vicious circle, that is." Tim brought out, somewhat awed.

Abby, while listening intently to what the doctor had said, had paled considerably. How could she have turned a blind eye to Tim's suffering? It hurt. A lot.

She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she sadly smiled at him, conveying to him the sympathy she was feeling, as well as an apology for her ignorance throughout his ordeal and her rather uncaring treatment of him. Poor Timmy.

Tim gave her a lopsided grin and a reassuring squeeze back.

"I'll be fine, Abs. You'll see. All in all, it's nothing too bad, really."

"Nothing which can't be treated effectively, Agent McGee," the doctor agreed. "An alternative treatment combined with symptomatic relief and some proper rest should result in a quick recovery."

"But why did it take you a day before you could finally give Tim the proper treatment?"

Dr. Urban nodded as he'd expected this question would turn up, eventually. "In answer to your question on how we overlooked the symptoms he experienced, I can only offer that they were easily confused with the number of other symptoms related to a concussion, the trauma sustained to his abdomen – you should take it easy for a while so that you'd allow your abdominal muscles to heal – we were told about your seasickness."

Dr. Urban lightly patted Tim on the shoulder. "It's not every day I get a medical case in which an infection, a condition like motion sickness and a combination of injuries share more or less the same symptoms. Even we learn something new every day."

"Well, I sure have a better understanding of what and why happened to me. Let's hope I'll never have to go through this again. It was becoming rather tiresome. There simply was no end to it."

"At least now they've been able to do something about it, Timmy."

"The treatment for gastroenteritis is aimed at rehydration via IV. This administration of the lost fluids should allow your body to fight the infection more effectively and thus recuperate faster. The rehydration also takes care of the nausea and vomiting. Unfortunately, you'll be on a bland BRAT diet and slowly built it up until you can tolerate the usual."

"Bananas, rice, apples and toast, I take it?" Tim wanted to know.

"Precisely."

"And my throat? I trust I'm no longer contagious?"

"You should be okay on that account."

Dr. Urban looked at his watch and excused himself. "Well then, Agent McGee. Just enjoy some well earned rest and we'll do the rest until you leave us again. Have a nice day."

A brisk, yet friendly, nod to both Tim and Abby, and he left the room.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, things were looking up.

He turned his head on the pillow so he could see Abby's face. The love he read on her open face, made him giddy. The pleasant butterfly-in-the-belly kind. Like he was on a date with her again. He'd never stopped loving her. That's what made it all so much more painful...her treating him the way she did.

Abby held his gaze. And she didn't falter. She wanted him to see for himself her readiness to change. To show how badly she wanted to be that girl again he'd come to love. One pair of green eyes locked into another. She could see where his mind was going. She didn't like what she saw; the doubt, the confusion...but she understood his he had to learn to trust her again, after what she'd done to him.

Things hadn't been right for a long time. And Alejandro getting all honey-tongued whenever he got in touch with her, had been the proverbial drop.

Abby recalled Tim's reaction when she first stepped inside Tim's hospital room. He had become so tense in a blink and it had taken her by surprise. And she knew it had nothing to do with his injuries and his illness.

They had talked until his energy left him and he sank back into a healing slumber.

Since talking to Gibbs, she'd had rare feelings of guilt. When she got home, that night, she'd searched for answers. How and when had it all started? Why had she been so mean to him? She still loved him, albeit no longer the passionate love they used to share when he'd been a green, puppy-face, young and inexperienced agent.

They could still be friends. As close as friends can get. And maybe...

"Abby? Abs?"

Tim's soft voice broke her reverie. She hadn't realized she'd been staring unseeingly in his emerald eyes.

"Oh Timmy..." she replied, smiling yet a little sad when she noticed he was visibly flagging.

"We're good again?" he whispered expectantly.

"Yes, Timmy."

Abby got up and bent over Tim, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead and she was rewarded with a smile of contentment as he was pulled under again, as exhaustion forced his healing body to rest.

_Love is infectious and the greatest healing energy.  
Sai Baba _

**FIN**

- -.-. -. . .


End file.
